


is it really so strange?

by tozierbrak



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: @ eddie clam down buddie :/, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Pre-Slash, and kind of sad, but.... the pining is there, eddie kaspbraks loud mouth, i guess? its not Super angsty, lmk if i should make this a series or not, richie is.... soft, so this is like. the beginning of a possible series, the word fuck 3x per sentence, they loooove each other, theyre like 18 in this, this shits corny as hell, your mom jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 02:21:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20827793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tozierbrak/pseuds/tozierbrak
Summary: “No, Eds, I mean it, I-” he glanced toward Eddie and back once more. “I’m leaving this shithole.” He resolutely continued to look anywhere but at Eddie’s face. There was a long pause and then, because Richie was never good at dealing with long pauses- “Your mom didn’t tell you? We’ve finally decided to elope.”(in which richie decides he’s leaving derry)





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! so this is part 1 of 2 (for now,, it might turn into a series.... only time will tell) and i should have the rest up by the end of the week i think. anyway,, enjoy!

“Hey, Eds, what do you say we get the fuck out of Dodge?” It was two weeks after graduating from high school that Richie Tozier decided he was leaving Derry as soon as possible, because, well- fuck Derry. Tiny, small-minded, hateful Derry, constantly reminding him of things he’d rather forget. He glanced over at Eddie, who was sitting next to him on the edge of the quarry, glowing in the late afternoon sunlight. 

“Richie, what? We just fucking got here, what the hell? And frankly, I am not prepared to get back into that deathtrap you call a truck; seriously, that thing should not be allowed on the road. Also, have you ever even heard of safe driving? Because even if your truck doesn’t fucking- fucking explode, or something, you’re gonna give me a heart attack with your fucking driving, okay? Like, I know driver’s ed was required in high school, but did you even pass it? Were you present in driver’s ed class? Like- do you know how many red lights you practically ran on the way here, Rich? _Four_. Do you have any clue how many accidents are caused by morons like you running redlights? I am _not_ looking to become a fucking redlight accident statistic because I got back in a car with you right after we got to the fucking movie theater, because-” 

“Eddie, Jesus, that’s not what I-” Richie rubbed his eyes under his glasses and let out a short huff of air, grinning widely. “Skip town with me.”

Eddie’s brow furrowed, and his nose scrunched up in that way it did when Richie said something particularly absurd. Richie’s gaze lingered on the freckles there. “Skip town- the fuck are you talking about? Richie, is this a new bit? Are you testing out a new character on me? What’s this supposed to be?”

Richie’s smile faltered and he redirected his stare to his feet, dangling over the edge with the shoelace on his left Converse frayed and untied, and then to the reflection of the sun sparkling on the murky water below. “No, Eds, I mean it, I-” he glanced toward Eddie and back once more. “I’m leaving this shithole.” He resolutely continued to look anywhere but at Eddie’s face. There was a long pause and then, because Richie was never good at dealing with long pauses- “Your mom didn’t tell you? We’ve finally decided to elope.” This did garner a response- a sharp jab in the ribs, to which Richie responded with a loud yelp.

“Fuck you, Trashmouth, you had me thinking you were serious for a minute there! That was not fucking cool, asshole,” Eddie scolded with another swat at Richie. When he was met with silence, though, Eddie faltered. “You- you are joking, right? You’re not leaving.” More silence, and now Eddie was getting worried. “Rich, you’re not,” he insisted, shaking his head. 

“I am, Eddie Spaghetti, what’d I just say? Me and your mom have been getting real serious these days, and-”

“Richie, look at me. Stop fucking around. Beep fucking beep, okay? You’re not being funny right now, dipshit.” Eddie grabbed Richie’s wrist out of the air from where it had been gesticulating, and Richie froze, turning towards Eddie with a lopsided smile. 

“I can’t stay here any longer, Eds. This town and everyone in it is ass, and you know it.” 

Eddie studied Richie; his unkempt mop of curly hair, his smudgy, crooked glasses, his pointy cheekbones and sloping nose, his ears that stuck out just a little too much, and the hundreds of freckles that were beginning to darken now that summer had started. He was in the midst of a weird semi-grunge phase that had him wearing tattered old jeans and sneakers and a dumb graphic tshirt with an obnoxiously loud hawaiian shirt thrown over it all. It should’ve been a trainwreck, but somehow it was just so Richie that it worked. 

All of the above was normal. But Eddie also noticed the changes- the dark circles, his bitten-down fingernails, the uncharacteristically sullen look that lingered behind his eyes lately. He noticed them now, and he had _been_ noticing them, for longer than he wanted to admit. And despite how he was acting, he was less surprised than he should’ve been at Richie’s declaration; it was a long time coming.

“Rich…” He said it softly, sadly. He said it like ‘goodbye’. 

Richie pretended not to pick up on this. “But I want you to come with me! We can- I know you hate my truck _and_ my driving, but it’ll be like, like a road trip! Like, fucking, The Muppet Movie, or some shit, I dunno.” He fell quiet as Eddie shook his head, releasing his grasp on Richie’s wrist.

“I can’t, Richie. I can’t just leave, you know I can’t. My mom-”

“Fuck your mom, Eddie! We’re both aware that she’s a fucking psycho!” He’d now turned to face Eddie completely, skinny legs criss crossed beneath himself. “If anything, thinking about your mother should be encouraging you to come with me,” he exclaimed.

At this, Eddie grew more heated. “Fuck you, Richie, she’s still my fucking mom! I can’t just, just pick up and leave! And where the fuck are you even going, anyway? Do you even have, like, money? Or a destination? The fuck are you gonna do, just fucking drive around the country like some kind of fucking nomad? In your piece of shit truck? Fat fucking chance, idiot.” He was glaring, but his eyes were shining.

“I have savings, dipshit! You know I’ve been working at the Aladdin for like, three fucking years. And I have, like, a list. Of places I wanna see. Things I wanna do. And I don’t,” his voice got lower, softer. “I don’t want to do them alone, so. So I’m leaving, in three days, and heading towards California, and I’m not looking back at this garbage town. And, Eddie,” he said, turning back towards the water and picking absently at the hole in the knee of his jeans. “I don’t wanna leave you here.” The statement seemed to echo, to fill the air around them with a feeling neither of them were too keen to label. Although he’d extended the offer one last time, the slump of his shoulders said he already knew what Eddie’s reply would be.

“Richie, I-” _ I’m scared, it’s too much, I want to, but- _ “I’m sorry.” _ I love you. _


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, here's chapter two!!! I hope you enjoyed this little story, and if you did perhaps it might become a series,,, we'll see i suppose.  
oh and btw... the title is a Smiths song that u guys should really listen to bc it's so Them!! 
> 
> enjoy!!

Richie, clad only in his boxers and a pair of long socks, lay sprawled on his bed, bleary eyes trained on his rickety old ceiling fan as it steadily made loop after loop. One of his socks was bunched around his ankle, and his checkered boxer shorts had a hole in the waistband. His and Eddie’s conversation, which had now taken place two days ago, played on a loop in his head. _ “I’m sorry,” _ Eddie had said, and Richie’s stomach had dropped, because how was he supposed to do this without his Eds? But he had plastered on a grin and brushed it off, made some comment about how Eddie’s mom would be grateful for some quality Tozier time, and if his eyes had been a little watery Eddie didn’t say anything. 

He didn’t want to leave Eddie behind, but maybe it was for the best. 

Because for one thing, Derry was slowly killing Richie. He barely slept, and everywhere he turned there was some creepy fucking shadow of the summer of 1989 popping up to fuck with him. He knew it was the same for all the other Losers, too. 

For another thing, Richie had a raging crush on his best friend, and maybe it was time to get over it. If he was being honest, “crush” was majorly downplaying the situation; his feelings went far below surface level, and at this point Richie figured the fact that Eddie hadn’t noticed by now was some kind of cosmic sign to give it the fuck up. 

“Fucking idiot,” Richie muttered to himself, blowing a curl out of his face. “If he didn’t know before, asking him to fucking run away with you was basically a goddamn declaration of love.” He groaned and flopped around miserably, winding up with his head hanging over the edge of the bed. Across from him on the wall was a Smiths poster with the top left corner flopping down off the wall, and Richie huffed as he saw it. Eddie would, without fail, try to stick it back to the wall every time he was in Richie’s room, despite Richie’s protests that it was just gonna fall back down again anyway, so why doesn’t he just leave it alone?

It isn’t like Richie actually thought Eddie was going to agree to ditch Derry and come with him on a cross-country semi-aimless road trip in his shitty old truck that was guaranteed to break down at least once over the course of the trip. Because if you know Eddie, you know that that’s not something he’d vibe with. It was just that the idealistic side of Richie’s brain that always took things and ran with them before he could do jack shit to stop it had gotten a hold of the idea of _ Richie and Eddie road tripping together, driving with the windows down, music blasting, sightseeing, taking roads because they looked cool, eating shitty food and stopping at shitty rest stops together, getting to California and building a future together_, and it had run with it. It had run so far and so fast that Richie never really had a chance of stopping it. 

But Eddie had said _ “I’m sorry,” _ just like the rational side of Richie’s brain knew he was going to, and now Richie was standing in the ruins of this huge elaborate fantasy that was never going to happen. And he was leaving tomorrow, alone. It needed to happen, it was _bound_ to happen. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Richie groaned and flopped some more, which resulted in him tipping over the side of his bed and onto the ground with a painful thump. “Fuck,” he grunted, voice muffled by the floor. He needed to pack.

\---

Eddie was kind of freaking out. It was four in the morning on the day Richie was supposed to leave, and Eddie was pacing back and forth across his bedroom floor so feverishly that he was surprised his mom hadn’t woken up yet. His eyes and hair were wild, his shirt was wrinkled from tossing and turning in his bed all night, and he was freaking the _fuck_ out. 

In the days since his conversation with Richie, Eddie had done a lot of thinking in circles. Richie has asked him to- to run away with him, and of course Eddie had said no, because what the fuck else would he have said? “Sure Richie, I’ll just drop everything and leave with you! Just fucking,” he ran a frantic hand through his hair. “Fucking, leave! Skip town! Just out of the blue, and what? Go to California? And then what? Fucking idiot! Asshole!” He sat down on the edge of his bed with an angry huff. There was a voice that sounded a lot like Richie’s in his head saying, _Say, Eddie Spaghetti, why the Hell are you still worked up about this whole thing if you’re so sure you don’t want to go?_ Eddie groaned. “Shut the fuck up, asshole, and don’t call me that!” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Fuck, now I’m fucking talking to myself. I sound like a fucking psycho.”

Head-Richie was right, though. Eddie didn’t say no because he didn’t want to go- because, _God_, he wanted to go, to just leave with Richie and not look back- he said no because he was scared. He’d never known independence like that, freedom like that, and it was fucking scary. It was scary, and Eddie had never been one to face his fears. _ But it’s more than that, isn’t it Eds?_ There went head-Richie, right again. He was in love with his best friend, and he was fucking terrified.

Eddie sighed and stood back up. He needed to pack.

\---

The door to Richie’s house- or, well, just his parents’ house now- slammed shut behind him. He took a deep breath and adjusted the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder, then set off down the driveway to where his truck was parked at the curb. He tossed his duffle bag into the bed of the truck, turned around, and let out a high pitched shriek, jumping a foot in the air. 

“Eddie, what the _fuck_, you scared the shit out of me, motherfucker!” He placed a melodramatic hand over his chest, taking in the boy in front of him. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest, and a suitcase (the kind with wheels) sat next to him on the sidewalk. Richie’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “Wait, Eddie, what? The fuck? What are you doing here?” His hand made an aborted gesture toward the suitcase, and his eyes came up to meet Eddie’s. “Why do you have a suitcase?” It came out in a raspy almost-whisper. Eddie rolled his eyes.

“I’m moving in with your mom. Why the fuck do you think, dipshit?” A tiny grin made its way onto his lips. “Help me put this in the back of your truck, it weighs like four hundred fucking pounds. Wait, did you seriously only pack a duffel bag? Richie, you know we’re not coming back, right?” Eddie continued his griping as he struggled to heave his suitcase into the truck bed; Richie dazedly took hold of the bottom end and together they lifted it in. His eyes were glistening.

“Eds, I- you- ‘_we_’? You’re- you’re coming with me? As in, you’re actually agreeing to ditch Derry and drive across the country in my disgusting old truck? As in, together, with me? Like- you legitimately grasp that we will be in this truck together, for days on end, and you know I can’t go that long without whacking one out, so you might witness-”

“Richie! Shut the fuck up, Trashmouth, or do you want me to change my fucking mind? No funny business in the truck, not while you’re alone and especially not while I’m there! Do you even have any clue how fucking disgusting that is- you do know that you need your hands to drive, don’t you? And guess what, genius, there’s no way you’re gonna be able to drive the entire way across America by yourself, so I’m gonna have to touch the same steering wheel as your, your fucking- jizz hands, and honestly I’m not okay with that! I wish you wouldn’t-” Eddie’s tirade came to an abrupt halt as Richie threw long arms around his shoulders in a tight embrace. He heard a conspicuous sniffle coming from somewhere right above him, and all the fight drained out of him as he hesitantly brought his arms up around Richie’s waist to return the embrace. “Richie, are you- are you crying right now?”

Another sniffle, and then- “Pfff, what? Of course not. I just got a whiff of your mom’s perfume.”

“Beep beep, Richie, shut the fuck up about my mother,” Eddie said, pulling back slightly (made difficult by Richie’s death grip on him). He gripped Richie by the sides of his arms so he could see Richie’s face. “Look at me, Rich, what’s the matter?”

“Shit, Eds, I just-” he brought a hand up to wipe at his eyes under his glasses. “I thought I was gonna have to do this shit alone, is all.” At the soft and sad look in Eddie’s eye after _ that_ pathetic confession, Richie backtracked. “I mean, you know if I don’t make fun of your fanny pack at least once a day I start to experience symptoms of withdrawal. Driving cross country with a headache and the shakes just isn’t plausible, Spaghetti, you can understand that.” 

The swat he got in response from Eddie was half-hearted at best. “Come on, you know there’s no way I’d let you leave me behind in this shithole. Get a hold of yourself, Richie, Jesus, and let’s get out of here. Unlock the car, it’s fucking hot out here,” he demanded, walking past Richie and around to the passenger side of the truck. He stood waiting to hear the click of the door unlocking, and when it didn’t come he let out a huff. “Richie, the fuck are you waiting for? Unlock the fucking door!”

For a moment, silence, and then a snicker.

“I forgot my keys.”

Eddie’s despairing groan and face-palm followed Richie as he jogged back up the driveway (_”Richie, are you fucking serious? Are you actually fucking serious? This trip is off to a great fucking start; what’s next, you need an oil change? I swear to fucking god, moron, if you keep this shit up-_). Richie’s face still felt tight and puffy from crying, and Eddie was bitching up a storm. But Richie’s grin was so wide that his cheeks hurt, and he felt like maybe with Eddie at his side nothing would ever be wrong again.


End file.
